Know-it-all
by TotoroBird
Summary: As a rule, the locket didn't affect Hermione as much as it did Harry and Ron. But what happens when it does start corrupting her thoughts? Set during DH. Rated T for mild language. Reviews are much appreciated!


**A/N: Thank you for reading. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling (even if she did put down the whole Ron and Hermione relationship). I know this probably isn't my best work but I really love writing this stuff for people so enjoy!**

It was a beautiful summer day. The sun was filtering through the branches of an aged oak tree towards the outskirts of the park. A young girl - no older than eight - with a mane of bushy brown hair perched on one of the lower branches, hoping that they wouldn't find her. They had chased her, the other children. They had chased her with sticks, taunting and jeering. There were now scratches on her arms and her knees were bruised and muddy. Suddenly, a roar of enthusiasm pierced the silence as a crowd of children came rushing toward the tree. They were throwing rocks now, laughing and sneering and being mean. As always. 'Freak', 'witch' and 'oddball' had been tossed at her with the stones.

_All alone. Shunned by others. Little more than a mudblood deserves._ A voice as smooth and poisenous as a snake's hiss whispered in her ear.

The scene changed.

The fire burned low in the common room. Eleven year old Hermione sat alone on the floor, a mound of books and papers as tall as she was beside her. There was no one about. There never was. She spent her time on her own, with the library her haven and books her only company.

Sniffing, she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her school jumper. During the day, she had been called know-it-all, nerd, bookworm, the list went on. Long ago, long before Hogwarts, Hermione had accepted that maybe she just wasn't meant to have friends. Even at a young age, she had resigned herself to loneliness. For some reason, people just didn't seem to like her. The children at her primary school used to laugh at her, and call her names. Then she came here, and she thought maybe she would find people who were like her, maybe people would want be her friend... But no. Apparently not.

Another tear escaped her eye and she brushed it away. Today, it had been the red-haired boy: the dim-witted friend of Harry Potter - she couldn't remember his name. He seemed to take offence at her abilities and she, likewise, took offence at his stupidity. Hermione was not necessarily a patient girl, and it must have showed because she now had yet another antagonist in her life. Why did she have to be such a perfectionist? Not just for herself, but for everyone else. Why couldn't she just shut her mouth?

_Because you are worthless. Why would anyone like you? Disgusting, filthy..._

The scene changed.

Fourteen year old Hermione trekked slowly through the snow away from Hagrid's hut. She was not crying; she felt too numb to cry, both emotionally and physically. The hippogriff's fate had been sealed. It was to be executed by the end of the month. She had failed. The words echoed in her head as she made her way to the castle. It was the first time she had ever failed, and it meant the loss of a life. If only she had Harry and Ron with her. But they were still angry. Harry because of his firebolt, and Ron because of that stupid rat. She was sorry, so very sorry, but her ridiculously large pride wouldn't allow her to admit it. The blood of an innocent creature was on her hands. She was alone again. Friendless.

_Worthless, worthless, worthless little Hermione Granger. A failure. Alone again._

It changed again.

Only a year later, Hermione sat on the steps to the Great Hall, curled up and weeping. Somewhere below her, her high heels were discarded on the stairs. Every now and then, happy couples, flushed from dancing, departed. The hall was gradually emptying. Viktor had left for the ship, with a swift kiss goodbye. How had such a wonderful evening turned so awful? She had felt so special, so beautiful for the first time in her life. And he had ruined it. Ron. The boy who gave her such joy and anger in equal measure. The boy she wished had asked her to the ball and the boy that did ask, but with no other option in sight. He didn't care, did he?

_Why would he care? There is nothing to care about. Nothing._

The scene dissolved again.

Oh no. Not this. Please not this.

_Yes. He doesn't care. He never cared. _

There he was again. 'Eating her face' as Ginny described it. Ron and Lavender stood wrapped around each other, oblivious to all else as Hermione watched. She loved him. Oh, how she loved him. That idiot. He was with someone else now. She sat on the steps as Harry comforted her. The birds were attacking him. He was laughing. He was laughing at her with that bimbo. Oh.

_He laughs at you. He laughs because he thinks you a silly little girl. Why would he want you?_

No more. Please, no more.

But more was coming.

Now Hermione stood, Harry and Ron dead before her. Voldemort had won. The Order was defeated. Good was defeated. There was nothing left to live for.

_They will die. The Dark Lord will rise and you, little girl, loneliest of children, shall be no more._

No. No more. They are not dead.

_Oh but they will be. You cannot fight him. Filthy little mudblood. You will lose. You will fail._

Stop it.

It was closing round her neck, digging into the pale flesh. She was suffocating.

No more.

No more.

_He will die. The boy will die. And you will die with him._

* * *

'No!' Hermione bolted upright out of her slumber. Her body was slick with sweat and her breath was catching in her lungs. She felt like she was being dragged down underwater and was acutely aware of the burning metal eating at her skin. Grabbing the chain around her neck, she yanked it off. The locket fell in a little pool of gold on the blanket.

It felt like a heavy load had just been lifted off her shoulders. She sighed with relief, and her breath clouded out in front of her. Her fingers crept up to her neck where the Horcrux had been. There was a thin line of blistered skin where the chain had lay. The cool night air felt wonderful against it.

Suddenly, she was gripped with fear. Looking over at the bunk bed across the room, she saw Harry's sleeping form. Ron was evidently on watch. They weren't dead. It had been a nightmare. She looked back down at the locket and was seized with the urge to curse it into oblivion. Wretched thing. If it were a human being, she was certain she would be using the cruciatus on it.

'Damn it,' she muttered as she clambered out of her bunk, trying to soothe the marks it had left on her neck. It was apparent that she would be getting no sleep.

Ron's hunched over form was silhouetted against the canvas by the light of his wand. Wandering over to the opening, Hermione looked through the gap at him.

Ron sat there, shivering a little in the autumn night. He looked undeniably weary, his bright blue eyes were ringed with purple and his face was pale. His knees were hugged to his chest in protection against the cold, rocking back and forth a little. Hermione smiled affectionately at him; she could still see the eleven year old red-headed boy that gave her so much hell. It had been so long ago, but even that awful Horcrux couldn't taint him for her.

Her foot shifted a little, but it made him look up all the same. 'Blimey Hermione! You gave me a heart attack!'

'Sorry.'

'Why are you up?' he asked, taking in her wary expression.

'I had a nightmare,' she sighed. 'Apparently, wearing the locket while asleep isn't very healthy.'

Ron looked solemn. 'Don't I know it.' He directed his gaze up at her and held out his arm. Without hesitation, Hermione sat down beside him and his arm wrapped round her shoulders instinctively.

'The sooner we destroy the Horcrux, the happier I'll be,' she said, nestling into his embrace.

'We will. We'll destroy it and we'll win,' he murmured.

Hermione gave a small, bitter laugh. 'You're certainly more optimistic that that bloody necklace.'

'I wish.' His fingers brushed the tender, burnt flesh at her throat and she winced. 'Where did you get that?' he asked, concerned.

'Where do you think, Ron.'

With great care, he removed his arm and examined the marks. 'Give me the dittany.'

She nodded and pulled out her beaded bag. After rooting around for a moment, her hand found the tiny crystal bottle. Handing it to him, he undid the stopper and began applying it to the raw patches. His face took on a look of concentration as he worked. She could feel his breath on her neck, and almost wished she could feel his lips there too. Then she shook her head in impatience: now wasn't the time for idiotic daydreams.

All too soon, he retracted his hands. It took a moment to steady herself, and most of all to try to slow the frantic beating of her heart. As he moved away, Hermione felt the cold surround her again, and she realised just how freezing it actually was. Winter must be coming.

'Were they bad nightmares?' Ron spoke up. His voice sounded so loud in the empty night; it echoed off the frosty trees that huddled round the tent.

'Yes. Yes they were.' Hermione shuddered as all her childhood insecurities came flooding back. As a rule, the locket affected her less than it did for the other two. But when it did start corrupting her mind, it certainly wasn't pleasant. She could only imagine what Ron went through.

'What were they like?' he asked curiously. Hermione took a deep breath.

'They were laughing at me. Calling me a know-it-all. You and Harry,' she whispered, gazing over her knees at the leaf-strewn ground.

She couldn't see him, but she knew his face was taking on a guilty shade of crimson. After seven years, she could read him like a book without even a glance. It was a skill she possessed that Ron had never learned to appreciate. 'Oh,' was all he replied with.

'Then again,' she said with a sad smile, 'I guess I deserved it. I was a right pain.'

'No you weren't,' he said. She raised her eyebrows at him and he mumbled, 'Okay, you were. But so was I. Don't you remember how stupid I used to be?'

Hermione smiled. 'You were quite an idiot.'

'I still am! And you're still a know-it-all. But so what? Do you think we could have survived this long if you weren't?' Hermione felt a genuine smile forming on her lips. Her poor little heart was beginning to flutter again. 'Hermione, without you and your wonderfully large brain, my sister would be dead. Harry would be dead. I would be dead. Hell, if we hadn't snuffed it by the end of last year, we would have done after only two weeks in this tent. Without you, we wouldn't stand a chance.'

'Oh Ron,' she murmured, her eyes brimming, 'For an idiot, you certainly have a way with words.'

Merlin, she wanted to kiss him. She wanted to taste his lips and never release them. Hermione was a logical woman - always had been - and had never been drawn in by the whole 'head-over-heels' obsession with boys that the other girls in her dorm had. But she knew if she didn't kiss him, she would explode, die in a fiery pit of unfulfilled desire and loneliness. He was so close. She could just reach over, close the gap, and his mouth would be hers. But she couldn't. Despite the fact that Hermione was a proud creature, and admittedly rather forward when it came to it, this was her best friend. It took every ounce of physical and mental strength not to crash her lips on his, yet she knew it was the wisest and smartest thing she could possibly do. There was a war going on after all. Ron was right: Hermione really did need to get her priorities sorted. She didn't even know if she'd be alive tomorrow, let alone if he reciprocated her feelings.

He was so very close. Only a few more inches and Hermione could have claimed his mouth as hers. For once in her life, she wished that she could just leave the intellectual part of her mind (a large majority of it in other words) and be stupid and reckless like those other girls in her dorm. They sat only a few centimetres apart and yet it felt like there was an entire world in between them. The cold air had melted away; she could barely feel the crisp air eating at her anymore. All she could see was his eyes, unforgivingly blue, and he in turn was gazing at her own.

Then she looked away. She couldn't afford to think like this. Not now. Not when their lives were hanging by a thread.

'You look cold,' Ron broke the thick silence and a small part of her mind wondered if he knew the intensity of what he had just broken. 'You should go back to bed.'

'Ronald, do you really think I'll be able to sleep after that?'

'Oh, right.' He shook his head, rocking back and forth a little more. He really did look miserably tired.

'Ron, go to bed,' Hermione said, patting his shoulder. 'You could use some sleep.'

'What?' He looked at her as if he misheard.

'Bed, Ron,' she repeated slowly, 'Honestly, you look exhausted.'

Ron seemed to consider this proposition, but shook his head again. 'But what about you?'

'I'll go on watch. Please, just get some sleep.' Hermione gave him a light push, and he got slowly to his feet.

'Are you sure?'

'Yes.' He didn't reply, but after another glance at her on the ground, he ducked through the opening into the tent. 'Ron? Can you bring me the Horcrux?' she called. There was a shuffling inside, then he reappeared holding the golden chain. He held it far in front of him, as if it were a dead animal. 'Thanks,' she said, holding out her hand to take it.

Ron stayed still for a moment, as if deep in thought, then said, 'No, I'll wear it for tonight.'

'Really? Why?' she asked incredulously, eyeing the locket with disgust.

'You've already had to put up with this piece of shit more than enough this week. I'll feel better at any rate if you don't have to wear it.'

'But it affects you worse than anyone!'

'I know. But as long as it's hurting me, it's not hurting you.' Ron pulled the chain over his head. Hermione noticed the change in him almost as fast as it passed over his features. He looked paler than ever, drawn and, most notably, much more tired. Again, she had to fight down the urge to throw her arms around his neck and kiss his frown away.

'Thank you Ron,' she smiled with all the affection she could muster. Despite the Horcrux around his neck, he grinned sheepishly at her and disappeared into the tent once more.

Hermione was left alone, in the cold, empty world, but she had never felt warmer inside. He had taken the burden for her. He had actually volunteered to carry the one thing in the world that caused him so much fear and pain. For her.

She loved him, her best friend and her enemy since the beginning. The light and joy in her life and the cause of endless worry and distress. And she was loved in return, whether in a platonic sense or not - she didn't care anymore.

Most of all, he did care. The locket was wrong. She was loved because she was a know-it-all, and nothing in the world could change that.


End file.
